


through the walls

by Pillow_Bee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pillow_Bee/pseuds/Pillow_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For fear of tainting Castiel’s Grace – which is key to winning the impending war against the Knights of the Darkness – Dean can never set eyes on Castiel. Not until their wedding day.</p><p>So they make do: they chat through a wall that separates them in two different rooms; they have dinners with Castiel’s entire entourage in order to keep Castiel’s identity a secret from Dean; sometimes they even Skype, but with sticky notes blocking Castiel’s built-in webcam so that all Dean could see is just the blurred adhesive side of the yellow paper.</p><p>Modern!Fantasy!Royalty!Destiel AU, all rolled into one fic! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I now have a [tumblr](http://pillowbee.tumblr.com/)! Please do drop a line! :D
> 
> Your kudos and comments will absolutely be loved and appreciated! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

“Right, wait, wait – I know,” Dean says as Castiel’s laughter from the other side of the wall slowly dies off. “You’re secretly very ugly, and I mean, extremely ugly – misaligned teeth, with warts on your face and all, and one of your ears is lopsided and shrivel-y—”

This causes Cas to burst out laughing again, and Dean follows suit.

To be honest, Dean doesn’t know why his seventeen-year-old self hated Castiel so much back then. The grandfather clock standing in one corner of the lavish room tells Dean that it is quarter to four in the morning, and yet there are no signs that he and Castiel are anywhere near the end of their conversation. Albeit being in separate locked rooms and talking through a wall, they have had a surprisingly enjoyable evening together. Dean suspects that the wine has something to do with it, but he knows that he couldn’t attribute everything to the wine alone.

For once in a very long time, Dean doesn’t feel like the weight of the entire world is on his shoulders.

“And what would you do if I _do_ turn out to be ugly?” asks Cas, his voice muffled somewhat by the wall.

Dean considers this, and shrugs to himself. “Eh. I’d have to wear a blindfold for the rest of my life, I guess.”

He hears Cas huff out a laughter; hears Cas take a sip of his wine. He imagines Castiel’s back resting against the wall at the exact same spot he was leaning against; imagines he could feel the body heat radiating from the other side.

“You really wouldn’t mind my theoretically-disfigured ear?”

“You know… I really don’t think I’d mind it that much. You’re more than a good conversation partner – I haven’t laughed my ass off like this in years. I’d turn a blind eye to one disfigured ear. I mean, what the heck, right?”

Castiel is silent for a moment or two. “And… You really mean that?”

Something clutches at Dean’s heart as he hears the uncertainty in Castiel’s voice. It makes him want to break out of the stupid room, reach out to Castiel and just hold him for as long as he could. But he couldn’t – Dean doesn’t even _know_ what Castiel looks like, doesn’t know how tall he is, what shade his eyes are, what his hands feel like, what his smile looks like – and it drives Dean absolutely mad.

They have been betrothed to one another at seventeen, and Dean had rebelled against it for quite some time. He _hated_ Castiel. He didn’t want to be married off for political reasons, because he’s a human being, dammit, not a chess piece for his dad to play around with. (Plus, he’d actually had his eyes set on Lady Braeden, and the two of them had been flirting on and off for four summers straight.) The fact that he could never come face to face with his so-called fiancé till their wedding day had simply made things worse back then.

It took a while for Dean to realize that things hadn’t been easy for Castiel either, engrossed as he was in his own misfortune. Castiel is sixth in line to the throne of the small neighbouring kingdom, which shares its northern borders with Dean’s vast green lands and its southern borders with Adralirin. Once a peaceful land, Adralirin has become a tumultuous kingdom that has been plagued with fear by a group who call themselves the Knights of the Darkness. These Knights have killed thousands of innocent lives and destroyed numerous civilizations in their quest to cover the world in total darkness.

Dean’s dad and Castiel’s eldest brother, King Michael (and Castiel’s father before that) have been defending their respective kingdoms against the Knights of the Darkness for years now, but while King John’s borders remain well-protected, the same could not be said about Castiel’s home.

Being small in size is really the main weakness of King Michael’s kingdom. Day by day, the threat of an invasion by the Knights of the Darkness becomes even greater. If this were to happen, John’s kingdom would also be in danger, as the entry point to his lands is indeed via the borders that he shares with King Michael.

To make matters worse, Castiel’s second-eldest brother, Luke, had betrayed his own kin and had declared his allegiance with the Knights six years ago. Luke knows too much about Michael’s war strategies and could very much bring about the end to Castiel’s homeland. This was why both John and Michael had decided to take matters into their own hands: John had agreed to protect Michael’s borders, and in return, Castiel’s hand in marriage was promised to Dean, the Crown Prince.

To some, it might not seem like a fair trade-off for King John, for while King Michael gets protection for his people, King John gets...a son-in-law?

But to those who know about King Michael's bloodline, they'd know that this was indeed a very fair trade. The Edlund Bloodline is said to be directly descended from the angels: according to the lore, their ancestor, Dina the Angel, fell in love with a mortal man and decided to leave Heaven to start a new family on earth. Their descendants, therefore, were said to be gifted with long life, healing abilities, and a handful of other very useful talents; these abilities are often collectively dubbed as their Grace. The lore further says that their Grace could be considerably weakened if they were to give in to human temptations and sins, such as hunger for power and arrogance, to name a few.

Of course, to a layman, all of this is considered as nothing but children's fairytale, something you tell them at night to get them to fall asleep. But to kings and queens, princes and princesses – to King John and Dean – The Edlund Bloodline is very real. Therefore, the reunion between Dean and Castiel is indeed a huge advantage to King John: it promises powerful future Kings and Queens for his kingdom.

Hence the reason behind Dean never meeting Castiel face to face.

In order to keep their Grace intact for as long as possible, the identities of most of the Edlund family members have always been kept a secret. Not even their own people know what most of the royal family look like. Only the king, and the three people in line to the throne (Princes Luke and Gabriel, and Princess Naomi), have been introduced to the society. To the general public, the anonymity behind their royal family is simply a part of their kingdom's tradition; but Dean knows that it is in order to preserve the royal family's Grace.

"It teaches us to be humble," King Michael had said in one of the many meetings he'd had with King John. "Once the idea of power gets to your head, there's no turning back."

"Isn't it difficult, growing up like that?" Dean had asked, despite the glare his father had sent him. John had always worried that Dean, then sixteen years old and rebellious to boot, would say something untoward to King Michael. But the young King had merely arched his eyebrows in Dean's direction, prompting him to elaborate. "I mean, knowing that one day you'll be kings or queens, yet knowing that you don't exactly have anything in your possession – not your identity, not even bragging rights. How does it feel, living that kind of life?"

King Michael had paused to think, but much to Dean's surprise, he'd merely shrugged and said, "Believe it or not, I think my siblings and I enjoy the anonymity. True, we've had no special treatments since we were little, not even in the castle – but Luke and I used to be able to run around the markets in the city unsupervised when we were twelve... You can imagine the troubles we got into..." he'd trailed off here, with a faraway look in his eyes, before shrugging again. "It's not that bad, really, when it's all you've ever known."

(And Dean had to admit then and there, that _that_ kind of freedom is indeed something to be envious of. He could name a thousand instances where he and Sam had begged their father to let them roam around the city unsupervised – " _Please_ Dad, just this once?" – but of course, John had always said no, and they'd always have at least Uncle Bobby with them at all times.)

And so, at seventeen, Dean had been forced into something he'd absolutely hated. To him, Cas can stuff his Grace and go back to where he belonged, because he, Dean Winchester, did _not_ need a fiancé whom he could never set his eyes on before their wedding day.

But as Dean grows and matures, he begins to understand Castiel better. He remembers their first time talking to each other, with this very wall separating them some five years ago: they’d started off on a bad note, and had ended the whole thing in an even worse condition—

 _(“Do you really think I_ wanted _this? Do you honestly think—”_

 _“No, I_ don’t _know what you think, Cas, so please, share your thoughts with the whole class, why don’t you?”_

 _“I have already lost one brother to the Knights, Dean, and now I might lose my home. So forgive me for being such a ‘willing pawn’ in our Kings’ game of chess, as you have so very eloquently put it, but I am doing this because it is my duty – and my_ **name** _is_ **Castiel!** _”)_

Castiel must have been in a constant state of worry over his brother Luke, his home, the safety of his people, and the ever-present threat of invasion by the Knights; and once he was betrothed to Dean, he'd have to face Dean’s misplaced wrath as well. Dean had been such a dick back then, so stupid and selfish – if only he’d pulled his head out of his ass long enough to see the suffering Castiel was in, he might’ve had the chance to rescue Cas earlier, to tell him, _hey listen, I’m here, I’ve got you, I’ve got your back--_

Because screw logic and reality – Dean thinks he has actually managed to fall in love with someone he has _never even seen before in his life._

There is something about Castiel that’s somehow managed to worm into Dean’s heart. Sometimes Dean thinks that it’s because of all the secrecy stuff, makes him all the more eager for the day he'd _finally_ be able to see Cas and all – but really, as this thing between them slowly evolves from childish feud to tentative acquaintance to unexpected friendship, Dean realizes more and more that, sometimes, all he wants to hear is the sound of Castiel’s (previously very rare) laughter, that sometimes he finds himself wondering what Cas is doing at home, whether he is thinking of Dean the way Dean is constantly thinking of Castiel.

So when Cas asks if Dean really means it when he says he wouldn’t mind Castiel’s theoretically lopsided and shrivelled-up ear, the answer rolls off his tongue as easy as anything: “Yeah, Cas,” he says at length, “I really mean it.”

“Thank you,” Castiel sighs softly, and yet, the gratitude in his voice rings loud and clear in Dean’s ears.

Zachariah – Dean’s least favourite out of all of Castiel’s members of entourage – unfortunately picks that exact moment to unlock the door to Dean's room and poke his head in.

"I'm afraid you two have been at it for far too long, sire," Zachariah says, one of his false smiles fixed firmly on his face. Sometimes Dean wonders why Cas insists on bringing him along in his trips to visit Dean. "Time for bed."

Dean rolls his eyes at this, but nods all the same. "At least let me finish this?" he says, lifting his wine glass and giving it a swirl.

The false smile falters a bit. "Of course."

With that, the door slams shut and Dean hears Zachariah deliver the same message to Cas next door. A muffled conversation takes place for a while, and then Dean hears Zachariah shutting Castiel's door as well before marching away.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean calls out once the footsteps outside die down.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Was Zach attempting to tuck you into bed?"

Cas grunts from the other side of the wall. "Yeah... Insists on escorting me back to my room. I told him to come back in ten minutes. Told him I wanted to finish my drink."

Dean chuckles at this. "Same here, buddy. Same here..."

They fall silent for a moment or two. Dean simply swirls his wine glass and stares as the dark liquid within sloshes this way and that. He imagines he could hear Cas sighing in the next room – imagines him taking a series of long gulps out of that wine glass – imagines what he must look like now, hair sticking out in all directions from when he might have ran his fingers through them; cheeks rosy from laughing at Dean's cheesy jokes, and from the wine; chest rising up and down slowly as he relaxes against the wall...

"Hey, Castiel?"

Dean almost never addresses Cas by his full name anymore, so he imagines he could hear the smile in Cas' voice as he replies, "Yes, Dean Winchester?"

"Have breakfast with me tomorrow."

The silence that greets him hangs heavy in the air, his invitation ringing loudly in his own ears.

"I, uh," Cas begins, stops, and clears his throat. "I...don't think that's a good idea, Dean."

"Why not? We've had dinner together before, remember?"

It is true, they did have dinner together, but that was a _very_ long time ago. It was right after their engagement ceremony, and Dean had been in an extremely foul mood (because Lady Braeden had been there, and it was clear to anyone who'd bothered to look that she'd been crying the night before) to be paying attention to any of his dinner guests that night. The whole of King Michael's entourage had sat at the table – _even their driver_ – and Dean had had absolutely no idea which one of them was supposed to be his fiancé (which, he would come to realize rather belatedly, was exactly the point of having the entire entourage there in the first place).

"Yeah, and you were in a very grumpy mood," Cas says. He is probably recalling the same evening six years ago.

"Aw come on. I didn't know you at all back then," Dean reasons. "I know plenty now to enjoy your company, even if we're in different rooms. So c'mon, what d'you say?" Again, Cas is silent for a beat too long, so Dean quickly adds in, "We can have a late breakfast, say at eleven? Because let's face it: it's late and we've had quite a few to drink. We’re totally sleeping in tomorrow. And – and Sam will join us tomorrow, and Bobby too, and then your whole entourage can join in, eh? Well – except maybe Zachariah. _He's_ definitely not invited."

That last bit earns Dean a bemused chuckle from Castiel, and he instantly knows that Cas is caving in.

"Besides," he presses on, "if it's against the rules, I'm sure Michael would've told you so. Amirite?"

Deep breath, long exhale.

"I...suppose you're right."

Dean punches the air, and in his excitement, very nearly spills the contents of his wineglass onto the plush carpets below.

"Okay! That's, that's awesome, Cas, thank you." He doesn't even bother to hide the giddiness in his voice, because this is Cas and he knows he won't be judged for it.

"My pleasure, Dean," comes the simple reply, and once again, Dean could hear the smile in Castiel's voice.

"Sooo...see you tomorrow at eleven? Well – not _you_ you, I mean...you, and your entourage."

“All right.” He imagines Cas nodding his head. "Tomorrow at eleven. So I’ll, um. I’ll see you soon?"

Dean’s heart skips three beats at how hopeful Cas sounds. “Yeah. See you soon, Cas.”

But when ‘soon’ is for Dean, he doesn’t know; not exactly. Cas might be able to see him the next morning, but Dean will be spending the rest of breakfast trying to guess which one is his fiancé.

And God, does he hate this guessing game.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers play detective.

"Okay, Sammy, talk to me."

Dean plops down into the seat next to Sam and takes a long sip out of his coffee mug. It is currently _Too-Friggin’-Early_ o'clock in the morning, and Dean’s only managed to get approximately two hours of sleep last night. He hopes the pounding in his head is not going to ruin the day, because he wants to spend as much time as he can with Cas before the other man returns home.

He thinks Castiel must still be in bed at the moment. They did retire into bed very late last night, but despite the lack of sleep, Dean regrets nothing.

"Well," Sam says, snapping Dean out of his thoughts, "I'm narrowing down Cas' entourage members, I think there's around twenty people this time."

Cas usually brings with him the people he trusts the most, and also a handful of his siblings, whenever he visits Dean. Sam and Dean have been playing a one-sided game of "Guess Who" ever since Cas became a part of their lives – except Sam and Dean don’t really get to ask Cas any _yes/no_ questions, and their pool of suspect is definitely made up of more than twenty-four people.

This is why Sam now has a folder named _**C A S T I E L**_ on his laptop, and this particular folder contains all the info that the brothers have so far on Cas.

"I was just gonna print the last photos here," Sam is saying, clicking on a .jpeg that he must have worked on yesterday or last night. Sam and Dean like to keep the photos of their “suspects” updated as regularly as possible, just because it helps them feel like they’re on top of things (even when they really aren’t).

The photo Sam is currently printing out depicts four people, but Dean only recognizes two: Anna and Meg. They've identified pretty much all the ladies that come and go with Cas' entourage over the years – because Castiel is obviously not a girl – but the guys are a bit tricky to pin down.

"These two are new," Dean comments, frowning at the two faces next to Anna and Meg.

"Yeah – in fact, Cas actually brought five new faces with him this time around," Sam says, now standing up and walking towards the large cork board across the room.

Said cork board has notes and photographs pinned all over it, with red strings connecting one point to another. Pinned at the very heart of it all is a photo of Clint Eastwood (“Hey, I mean why not, right?” Dean had once replied when Sam had asked why he’d tacked on a photo of Clint Eastwood, of all people. “I like Clint Eastwood _and_ I like Cas, so— oh shut up, will you?”) with a question mark drawn on his face with black Sharpie. The yellow Post-It note above Clint Eastwood’s photo aptly reads, _"CASTIEL???"_

Sam now pins the new photos he'd just printed on to the board.

"So...now what? How many do we have at the moment?" Dean asks as their pool of suspects grows larger. Sam slowly turns around to face Dean and gives him a tight smile.

"...Thirty-one."

Dean runs a hand over his tired face. "You gotta be kidding me, Sam."

Over the last two years, they’ve managed to actually narrow down the number of suspects to just below thirty, and Dean’s been hoping that they could keep it that way – or even reduce that number down to perhaps, say, twenty-ish? – but it seems as if Cas knows about Sam and Dean's little detective game, and has stepped up _his_ game as well.

"Okay, I know this looks bad, but," Sam is now rearranging the photos on the board, "I am certain...that these guys... _here_...are our main...suspects."

Sam is scribbling something on a piece of Post-It. He slaps it onto the board, steps aside and gestures at the ten photos he's pinned directly below Clint Eastwood. The Post-It reads, _“Top 10 Suspects.”_

"Hmm." Dean stares at the photos, and wonders which one of these men is actually his Castiel.

"These ten have constantly been with Cas whenever he visits us. But, I think we can safely rule these four out." Sam points at four different photos. Dean is confused for a moment and is unsure how Sam has reached this conclusion, but then—

Then it clicks.

“They’ve all been Cas’ spokesperson before,” Dean blurts out, green eyes looking at Sam’s for confirmation.

 _“Exactly,”_ Sam says, triumphant.

Dean has _heard_ these four men speak on behalf of Castiel before. Sam and Dean had nicknamed these guys "spokespersons" once, and it sort of stuck so that's what they'd ended up calling them from then on -- they'd convey simple stuff like, "Castiel is feeling rather tired at the moment, he's thinking of taking a power nap for a while if that's okay with you?" or, "Castiel was just wondering -- how long did it take for Mary to plan out the whole east wing renovation thing? He's rather impressed with how it turns out," or, even on one occasion, "Castiel would just like to say... Shut up, Dean, and pass the salt, will you?"--

\--But the point here is that Dean has heard the voices of these four guys before, and _none_ of them sounded anything like the one Dean has grown fond of over the years.

“That narrows this list down to six people. Six, Dean!" Sam says. "I mean – as long as you're confident you'd recognize Cas' voice—"

"Hell yeah, I’m confident!” Dean says. “Dude’s got this husky...this – this deep, sexy edge in his voice, sometimes it makes you all—"

Sam pulls a face and holds up one hand. "Wow. Okay, um. Maybe you can stop? Oversharing? Thanks.”

Dean flips his brother off.

"Dude, you should be _kissing_ my _ass_ ," Sam says, gesturing at the board. "Without me, you'd probably be stuck with Clint Eastwood here till the end of time."

"Yeah, whatever." But Dean knows that Sam has a point. He could never have gotten this far without his brother’s help. Sam is just as curious as Dean is, and his nerdiness has definitely come in handy.

Dean had overlooked the four male spokespersons (an easy thing to miss, because last he checked, Cas has had over _fifty_ different spokespersons in the past six years) – but Sam hadn’t missed it, and thanks to him, their list is slowly growing smaller.

Dean takes a sip of his coffee and leans back to take in the whole board. So if they rule out voice-changing spells and potions, it leaves them with six final suspects. But knowing King Michael, Dean wouldn't be surprised if spells and potions have already been thrown into the mix in order to keep Castiel's identity a secret.

And to make matters worse, five new players have now been introduced...

"So. What d'you think, Sammy?"

"I don't know _what_ to think," Sam admits with a sigh, "because man, Cas is good at this. Really good. Or I guess I should say King Michael is very good at this. Sure, we think we have the top ten suspects – but I still don’t think we should ignore the other twenty-one people on the list. It could still be one of them for all we know, and we know jack."

Dean simply hums his agreement, and stares at the photos Sam has pinned to the board.

Some of the suspects have become memorable enough to warrant nicknames: there's Square Jaw, with his intense eyes and his, well, very sharp jaws; there's Stubbles, a little bit baby-faced despite the nickname; there's Blue Eyes, with his quizzical brows and chapped lips; there's Sex-On-A-Stick, who favours deep V-necks and constantly has a mischievous aura about him; then there's the _actual_ Baby Face, with his cute nose and his blue eyes; there’s Sour Patch, a dark-skinned man who has never cracked a smile, _ever_ , and looks as if he’s got something stuck up his ass 24/7...

Dean groaned and rubs his face again.

"Where are you, Cas?" Dean murmurs, his eyes dancing from one face to another. "Where are you?"


End file.
